Valpurga
by hikachu
Summary: A bizzarre fairy tale in which the pure-hearted prince falls for the evil witch. BeaBato, Will/Lion; AU.


**note **This AU was partly inspired by a short story written and illustrated by Nobicco, a talented Japanese fanartist.

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The castle, a tall and surprisingly slender building of grey bricks and midnight blue pointed roofs, was completely enveloped by the roses. They had met the first bushes at the very beginning of the forest, and they kept increasing in number and density as they progressed.

The roses were darker than old wine but a bit brighter than dried bloodstains, and they clung to the castle and its towers like a desperate man strangling his lover to keep her from wandering to some place where his hand wouldn't reach her anymore.

From a distance, it looked as if someone had scattered huge pearls across that endless carpet of green, crimson red and thorns, but those were simply the bones of foolish wanderers that the witch had killed with her roses, flowers of evil—or so the story said.

Willard H. Wright, former Archbishop and Chief Inquisitor, kept his gaze fixed on them as he vaguely told himself that the flowers would be one of the last things he would be allowed to see. He was tired, and he knew he couldn't save himself: there was no hope in his heart, therefore, he felt that he had nothing to lose, and could feel nothing but an odd sense of detachment.

The guards escorting him dismounted their horses for the first time since they'd left the Senate a little before dawn, when they finally reached the entrance. Willard had been walking instead: hands tightly bound together by a rope that was held by one of his escorts as if it were a leash, and shackles around his ankles which only allowed him to take small steps. Should a miracle happen and he somehow manage to free his hands, he would never be able to run away anyway, as the shackles were too heavy, and the chain linking them too short.

The castle doors were ridiculously tall and they told the lives of heroes and saints and the violence they had inflicted upon monsters, enemies and even themselves when they were praying before god, but they were all forgotten stories by now, because nobody came here to learn them anymore; those who knew them had died, and their children had been too busy fighting against hunger, sickness and loneliness – the frightening notion that neither your god nor your king will save you – to recall those bedtime stories or even teach them to their own sons and daughters.

In this day and age, the only ones who still visited this place were the guards and those deemed a threat to the country, and only the former would return from the castle.

The massive wooden doors refused to be opened so easily and the noise they made as they finally parted was unbearable.

The inside of the castle was beautiful in the way only ancient ruins can be: it spoke of lives interrupted and dreams that never came true; of warmth and beauty that must have been there at some point, but now all that was left of them was a thick layer of dust, a concrete sign of their absence.

There were also the broken vases and exotic trinkets that came from far away lands, and statues, and a portrait.

Even covered in dust, the portrait was the only thing in this place that didn't look dull. Its colors were warm like the earth and the sun, if only a bit faded. They swirled and run along each other, sometimes touching, sometimes not, sometimes even mixing and bleeding into each other in the figure of what appeared to be a young woman. Her expression was undecipherable at first, but if one gazed at her for long enough, they'd notice that she was probably holding back a mischievous smile; her eyes, too big and too blue to belong to this land, seemed almost to sparkle with the illusion of life.

Will looked at her and she looked back at him, and he didn't ask himself who she was, because he could guess and anyway, it didn't really concern him. He did wonder, though, if she had been loved.

The guards led him further inside. The room was weird with its round shape and painted vault. The windows were very narrow and very tall, like the ceiling. It was beautiful but also very empty.

It looked more like the inside of a church than a castle where people used to live.

And then… the large room turned into a chapel as the eye fell upon the many caskets, heavy and made of stone, which were scattered all over the marble floor in a totally disorganized pattern, as if they had been the toys of some child who had hurriedly put them back in their box.

It took the two guards several minutes of joint efforts to remove the lid from one of the bulky coffins: it slid off and fell down, ruining the floor and filling the place with an unpleasant booming noise.

It took the two men even more time and strength to put the lid back on.

Willard stared past their faces, at the blinding light that came from the holes on the ceiling, the whole time. Until it disappeared completely, together with the rest of the world and his life.


End file.
